Win or Lose
by Eponymous Rose
Summary: So much depends on the five conversations Carolina never had.


**i.**

"It's like this," Tex says, and leans back in her chair, kicking her feet up to prop them on the edge of the table. "You win some, you lose some."

Carolina, her head pillowed on her arms, mumbles a carefully considered and scathing reply that comes out as, "Flrghn."

Tex barks a laugh. "Jesus, Carolina. Never would've figured you for a lightweight."

Carolina debates sending a nonverbal reply via middle-finger, but the old-booze stickiness of the table beneath her face is starting to feel more disgusting than comforting, and she drags herself back upright, glowering at Tex. "Speed unit messes with my metabolism. Four ribs got too up-close-and-personal with a speeding truck. Painkillers. Shitty moonshine. You do the math."

"Fair point," Tex says, and holds up the jar, sloshing it invitingly. "Another?"

"Please," Carolina says, and shoves her cup closer.

They're in the _Mother of Invention_'s baffles, close to the hull, and out here the sound of the engines is a pleasant, droning hum. Carolina leans in her chair until the back of her head touches the wall, until she can feel the ship's vibrations rattling around her skull. "So you're telling me Wyoming and Florida set this still up _months_ ago? And the Director still doesn't know?"

There's gotta be some residual disapproval in her voice, because Tex snorts a laugh. "It's something of an open secret. Can't imagine why nobody ever told you."

"S'not right, anyway," Carolina says, and downs another quick, burning gulp of the disgusting drink. It's not so much actually _numbing_ the pain in her chest as distracting her from it by virtue of its sheer awfulness, but it's better than nothing. "Can't skulk around drinking with them. I'm their CO."

Tex cocks her head to one side. "Doesn't mean you can't unwind sometimes."

"Nah, see," Carolina says, "it kinda does."

It takes her a few moments, and a couple more measured sips of swill, to realize Tex is just staring at her. "What?"

"I just," says Tex, and shakes her head, kicking down her feet and leaning forward. "Look, Carolina, I think we're on the same side, here. It doesn't have to be a competition."

"He gonna put your name on the leaderboard in the morning?" Carolina asks. "I mean, you delivered the briefcase. You delivered the Sarcophagus. You delivered the whole fucking mission. Lone star, lone wolf." She stifles a little giggle with another drink, then spends a long moment debating whether or not she wants to go throw up in a corner somewhere.

"Yeah. I'm top of the board," Tex says. "But that doesn't mean anything. I don't want your job, Carolina. You lead your team, and you just stay the fuck out of my way. Let me do my thing."

"Doesn't mean anything," Carolina echoes. "Easy to say when you're winning."

"Yeah," Tex says. "It really is. You know why I sprang you from the infirmary and dragged you down here to get you drunk?"

Carolina blinks Tex into focus. It takes her a long, sluggish moment to realize Tex hasn't been drinking, to realize her cup's been empty the whole time. The thought sends a wavery surge of adrenaline through her, and she straightens up in her chair, hissing as her ribs protest and the walls tilt crazily around her and her gut makes a valiant attempt at crawling up her throat. "Because you're a sadistic fuck," she mumbles.

"Well, that too," Tex says, without missing a beat, but her voice goes lower, more serious. "I want you to know you've got friends here, Carolina. Your team needs you. They're gonna need you. Now more than ever."

Carolina tilts her head to the side, which is a mistake, because blue-green whorls of light start flickering in front of her eyes. "Something's changing," she says, fumbling for an anchor on the conversation. "Isn't it? Something's coming."

"Nah," Tex says, softly. "I think something's already here." She straightens, pushes the jar back behind a maintenance panel. "I better get you back before you pass out or something. Just, y'know. Watch your back, Carolina. The leaderboard, the competition, all that... it's his bullshit. Not ours. Like I said, it doesn't mean anything."

Carolina rubs her face. "You had to get me drunk to tell me that?"

Tex exhales slowly, then shakes her head. "Wasn't sure I could say it otherwise. C'mon, kid. Let's get you home."

**ii.**

"Hey," Carolina says, and sinks into the chair beside Maine's bed. "You look good."

He blinks, reaches around to grab the little tablet he always keeps at his side, and a moment later the HUD in Carolina's helmet flashes the word, _**Liar**_.

His expression is more amused than offended, so she shrugs and says, "Yeah, you caught me. You look pretty awful." And he does, with thick rings around his eyes and swaths of bandages at his throat and a twitchy, hunted expression. He's never done well with needles. "Finally off the IV though, huh?"

His face twists a little at that, half-grin, half-snarl. Again, Carolina's HUD flashes. _**Doesn't hurt, boss.**_

"Yeah," she says, then adds, "liar."

He shrugs, and his smile becomes a bit more genuine. He looks... almost nervous, she thinks. Pleased that she's here, but worried about what she's going to say. Best to just get it out, then. "You, ah. You've heard about Phase Two?"

He nods, patiently. They all have, ad nauseum. "Well, they're finally matching the AIs up with the names on the leaderboard. York's came in first. He says it's pretty great, like having another teammate constantly watching your sectors, feeding you the best info."

_**Scary**_, Maine types.

Carolina catches herself in the act of shrugging it off, bland reassurances on her lips. "Yeah," she says, instead. "Yeah, it's weird. But it really does seem to be helping, since the accident. Not just with the peripheral vision and depth perception. He's more confident in the field. Guess he doesn't feel he has to try to impress someone if that someone's in his own head. Keeps him honest."

Maine smiles at that, shakes his head. Then his expression flickers, flattens out again. _**You?**_

"Yeah," she says. "I'm up next. Little guy called Sigma. Supposed to, I don't know. Make me a better leader. Help me out a bit." She inhales, slowly. "Maine, I want you to have Sigma. We don't know how long it'll be before the next AI comes in, and I know you want to get back in the field. If you get implanted, you'll be able to communicate through it just by thinking. The Director thinks Sigma might be a decent match for you as well. I can wait for the next one."

She realizes her gaze has traveled away from his eyes to a point somewhere on the wall behind him. She looks back at him, sees his face working through a series of emotions. Sees it settle on concern. He taps a finger against his chest, types, _**Guilt.**_

It takes her a second to realize he's referring to the sniper shot he took, the one that was meant for her. It takes her another second to realize what he's accusing her of. "I'm not doing this out of guilt for what happened to you, Maine. I'm just trying to help."

He looks at her. _**Liar.**_

She exhales, bringing a hand up to her faceplate like she can reach through and rub her aching temples. More than even the shock of him bleeding from his torn-up throat, she remembers his slow slump after the sniper shot, the slower rattle of his breath in her ear. "You didn't have to do that, Maine. Not for me. I never would've asked you to do that. I'm sorry."

His face tightens into a frown, frustration creasing briefly at the corners of his eyes. She knows that if it weren't for the injury, he'd be slipping into one of his incredibly rare voluble moods right now, speaking in a slow and measured cadence, teasing out complicated words and feelings and dragging them both to a sort of understanding. Instead, he only types, _**I know**_, and sighs, slumping back against the pillows with some force.

They stay like that for a while in silence, and then Carolina asks, hesitantly, "What do you want, Maine?"

He looks down at his bandaged body, the IV marks on his arms. Shrugs. Quirks the corner of his mouth into a twisted smile. _**Doesn't matter.**_

"No," she says, "It really, really does." She hesitates, then adds, "I can work with you when I'm off-duty, help get you up to speed again without an AI. It'll be tough, but if that's what you want, you know I'll be there for you. Okay?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, lets out a slow breath. When he looks up at her again, some of the tension is gone from around his eyes. _**I'll think about it.**_

She rests a hand on his shoulder, swallows another platitude, says instead, "Get some rest. That's an order."

He clasps one huge hand over hers, and for a moment she wonders what the hell kind of feat she's pulled off to earn that kind of loyalty. For a moment, the very idea terrifies her.

He smiles. The moment passes.

_**Night, boss.**_

**iii.**

"Carolina," says Connie, her calm voice at odds with the excitement in her eyes, the determination burning off her tense posture. "If you're listening to this recording, that means I escaped. Or, well, at the very least, I'm probably not around anymore. I leave these files for you, not because you were our leader, but because you deserve to know. More than anyone, you deserve to know."

**iv.**

"Let's leave this place," York says, and with a hesitation that's just an instant too long, he holsters his shotgun. Iota and Eta take note of that hesitation, map it against her memory of his reflex time, highlight the discrepancy. _He's not sure of you_, they whisper. _Not yet. Not really._ "I can get you help, I can get those damn things out of your head! You can trust me."

She's silent for too long; he moves forward, closing the gap between them. "Come with me," he says.

The anger thrumming in her ears is bolstered and amplified by faint echoes, _AllisonAllisonAllison_. "York," she says, and he straightens, radiating hope. She shakes her head. "_Jesus_, York. It never once occurred to you that I might have a plan of my own, did it? That I was so fucking close to bringing this down, that all your flailing around with Tex has fucked everything up. I found the Alpha, York. I can get him out. Or, well, I could've done it, if someone hadn't activated all the alarms."

He stares at her, seems to page through a volume of intelligent replies to that bombshell, settles on, "Wait, what?" After another moment of gaping, he shakes himself, and Iota and Eta drag her attention to the way his hand twitches toward his shotgun. "How could you find out-"

"My AI fragments, York. They're echoes. Last-ditch distress signals the Alpha sent out, before the big memory dump with Epsilon. The pictures I got were vague, but I pieced them together. Just needed a little more time to do it." The frustration deep-set in her bones finally gives way to anger, and she shoves him back a pace. "I had a way to do this bloodlessly, quietly. Nobody else had to die."

The ship shakes around them, the engines whining. He's been shaking his head since she started talking. "I... Carolina, why didn't you say something?"

She sighs, realizes her hands are balled into fists, lets them drop limply at her sides. "Why didn't you? I'm the leader, York. You should've trusted that I'd get you out of this."

"That's not fair," he says.

"No," she says. "It isn't."

They stand in silence for a long, long time. Eta and Iota count the seconds.

The ship shakes around them again, and York gives a strained little puff of laughter. "Man," he says. "I wish you'd told me all this before I sabotaged the engines."

Carolina blinks. "We're crashing?"

"Well," York says, his voice a little too quick and nervous, "that or exploding. Uh. No, definitely just crashing, yeah. Forget the thing I said about exploding. Which is definitely not going to happen."

She stares at him. He stares at her. She swallows a laugh that would probably sound more than a little weird right now. "Nice plan."

"Hey," he says, sounding vaguely offended. "We needed a distraction."

"All right," she says, deadpan. "Nice distraction."

"Look," he says, "Tex is going for the Alpha right now. Maybe she can still get to him. Maybe we can still turn this around."

"We're crashing and burning, York."

"I didn't mean the ship."

"Neither did I."

There's another silence, longer this time. York speaks first, his voice soft over the rising roar of the ship hitting atmo. "So what happens now?"

"Now?" Carolina sighs. "I don't know, York. We crash. We burn. We see if there's anything worth salvaging at the end of it. We go on."

"Together," he says.

"Yeah, York," she says, and for a moment the echoes in her head are still. "We go on together."

**v.**

"Boss," Wash says. "I think we need to talk."

She gives an explosive sigh as the dropship circuitry sends up another spark, hears Epsilon snarl a curse in response. "Little busy, here. And didn't I ask you to babysit those idiots? We really don't need them blowing each other up right now."

"Yeah," Wash says, sarcasm harsh and unfamiliar in his tone. "I guess we need all the disposable human shields we can get."

She half-turns to him, tilts her visor down, and he flinches visibly. But he rallies, a new stiffness in his spine. "Listen to me. We need to talk. Now."

"Sounds pretty serious," Epsilon says. "I mean, you can tell, 'cause his voice is doing that squeaky thing. Maybe you better go with him. I can keep working on this."

Carolina heaves another sigh, then slams her open palm against the side of the ship and whirls, stalking a few paces away. Wash trails her, bullish, shoulders rounded. "What is it, Wash?"

"I'm not," he begins, and stops himself, staring down at the ground, breathing hard.

He's so angry he's shaking, she realizes belatedly, and that detail cuts through her general irritation. She manages to gentle her tone. "Wash?"

"I'm not him," he bites out at last. "I'm not the rookie Freelancer anymore. I'm not everybody's kid brother. That guy died a long time ago, with all the rest of them."

She opens and closes her mouth a couple times, trying to work out what to say to that, settles on, "Is this about Epsilon? Because maybe he's the one you should be talking to-"

"It wasn't Epsilon, Carolina," he says, and now his voice is shaking, too, wavering. "It was never Epsilon. It was what came next. It was the interrogations, the certification. Knowing there were things in my head they wanted, not knowing which things they already knew. Playing the victim while they tore through my brain, building confidence, building trust. Betraying trust." He heaves a slow, calming breath, rubs at his helmet's faceplate with one hand. "They tore into my head, Carolina. You can't know what that was like."

"Yeah," Carolina says, matching his bitterness and sarcasm measure for measure. "I can't possibly imagine how that feels, Wash. Total mystery to me."

That catches him up short, and his gaze snaps up to meet hers. "I, I'm sorry," he says, after a moment. "I guess I sort of forgot."

She sighs, leans back against the cliff face, crosses her arms. "And I'm sorry we didn't come back for you, Wash. They kept you locked down. We didn't know if you were on their side. For a long while, we weren't even sure you were still alive."

"Neither was I," Wash says. For a moment he looks strange and vulnerable in the unfamiliar armor, wrapping his arms around himself as though to ward off some chill. "I did things, Carolina. I'm pretty sure most of them are unforgivable. But these-" He glances away for a moment, his tone softening. "These _idiots_ forgave me, offered me a second chance. I thought I was done with all this."

Carolina softens her voice in turn, carefully, by inches, because there's a depth of feeling there she can't access yet, an echo that would scream her voice into oblivion if she let it. "We're almost there, Wash. We're going to make the Director pay for what he did to us. To all of us."

He gives a weird little laugh, staring at the sky. "I don't want revenge. I never wanted revenge. I just want it to be over." He balls one hand into a fist at his side. "I killed them, boss. I think I killed all of them."

That throws her; she straightens up, moves a pace closer. "Wash?"

"The AI fragments. The Alpha. Maybe whatever was left of Maine, all tied up in them. I don't-" He starts pacing, jerkily. "I don't know. I just wanted it to be over. I wanted them to be gone. I wanted to be all that was left. And then- and then Epsilon came back, but he left again, and it was gonna be okay, it was a fresh start, I could just, just rest for a while. And then _you_."

The sheer depth of rage in his voice sends her stumbling back a step, but he backs off immediately, his shoulders hunching, his voice softening. "You came back, and you were just like you were before, cool and confident and angry and strong, even after all that happened. You stopped listening to me, acted like everything was the way it always was, back then. And you dragged Epsilon back. And it's not over. Maybe it's never gonna be over."

"We can end this," Carolina says. "We can stop him."

Wash shakes his head. "I just," he says. His voice cracks. "I just want to go home, boss."

She closes her eyes, leaning back against the cliff wall again, and after a long moment he sighs and does the same. She can feel him shaking beside her. "I guess I thought I was all that made it, too," she says. "I guess I thought maybe I could get back to good by remembering when things were easier. I'm sorry for that. But we'll make it through. One last push, and I promise we'll go. We'll leave you with your friends, let you rest."

She finally opens her eyes, staring up at the shimmering cold of the sky, listening to the faint echo of yelling further along the canyon, thinking for the first time about the uncertain universe of What Comes Next. "We'll make it through, Wash. We always do."

"Yeah," he says. He sounds unconvinced. He sounds tired. But he's still breathing, and she's still breathing, and maybe that's enough to get them to tomorrow. Maybe that's always been enough. "Yeah, boss. We always do."


End file.
